Always Surprised
by ALilyPea
Summary: Written for 20 est relships on lj. John Watson figures some people find themselves lacking surprise in their relationship but he doubts he ever will. Living with Sherlock is like jumping out of a plane daily. COMPLETE.


Surprise

Some would say their relationships lost the element of surprised over time.

Of course, most people weren't involved with men like Sherlock Holmes.

Most people didn't find eyeballs in the microwave, heads in the refrigerator and maggots in the vanilla ice cream container, which also sadly contained no vanilla ice cream.

It was a constant surprise to be involved with Sherlock.

Hell, it had been a surprise to get involved with Sherlock in the first place, from friendship to partnership to something inherently imore/i, something John didn't know how to explain.

Surprises were commonplace in their relationship.

Waking up to find Sherlock still next to him in bed that very morning had been a surprise, as had the look of fuzzy confusion in his lover's eyes before they cleared and he'd brightened up (well as much as Sherlock could).

"Are you alright?" John asked him, arching an eyebrow as he reached out to touch the mop of curls on his lover's head only to have him jerk away.

"Of course," Sherlock muttered, getting up off the bed and shoving his hair from his eyes, his movements as frenetic as always. His eyes were alight and John could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

John shifted, then pushed himself up, climbing out of bed a moment later. "Well then, I'm going to head off to the surgery then," he told Sherlock, heading for the shower he winced when his leg muscle cramped slightly.

Sherlock studied him momentarily then proceeded to huff like a child who didn't get his way.

It would never cease to surprise him how much his flatmate acted like a child either, it was amusing. For someone with such a vast intellect to get so huffy.

"What is it Sherlock?" he asked, weary and feeling more than a little tired as they had been up late working on and solving a case the night before.

"Nothing at all," Sherlock muttered almost sullenly as he picked up one of John's jumpers and studied it for a moment and then setting it down. "I'll be downstairs," he practically stomped toward the door.

John was surprised all over again. He sighed to himself, dragging a hand through his hair and shuffled on to shower, deciding to put Sherlock out of his mind for the time being.

He finished showering and headed downstairs, surprised to find Sherlock cooking breakfast. "Is something wrong?" he asked again, noting the furrowed brows and the stiffened back, as though he was holding in energy.

"Nothing at all John," Sherlock's tone of voice was sharp and John felt himself straighten up, frustration thrumming through him and making him feel the slightest bit uncomfortable.

John takes the plate offered to him, studying his food for a moment and is admittedly surprised to find nothing odd in it. Simply beans, toast, bacon and eggs.

"I wouldn't poison you," Sherlock muttered the words sounding more agitated by the minute.

John sat down at the spot cleared at the table and realizes he never actually realized that Sherlock could cook. But it would make sense that he could wouldn't it, after all he'd have to have gotten by before John came into his life.

"I didn't say you would," he retorted, becoming testy as well. "What on earth is wrong with you today?" he burst out a moment later.

"I can't believe you've forgotten," Sherlock snapped back at him.

"Forgotten what?" John asked him, arching an eyebrow.

"Your birthday you idiot," Sherlock replied sharply, frowning before he dropped a meticulously wrapped present in front of John.

John felt shock flood him and turned to look at the calendar. "So it is," he murmured, shaking his head. "But why do you care?"

Sherlock stiffened, pinning him with a glare. "From what you tell me birthdays are celebrated because you and the people who care about you are glad that you exist." He pushed himself away from the table and walked over to the loveseat, dropping down on it with a huff.

John pushed his plate aside and opened the card first, unsurprised to find it blank on the outside with just a picture of the Eye. He opened it, _iFor when we're on the run, faithful blogger. SH./I_

He opened the paper, surprised to find a laptop, a small one, he believed they were called netbooks, small enough to be carried in a little bag, or the case he often brought with him to crime scenes.

A smile overcame him then, a large one which most likely looked slightly goofy and he knew that Sherlock was watching him as he eagerly opened the box and knew that he was forgiven as he immediately began playing with his new toy forgetting about work altogether.

Sherlock cared that he existed, was glad that he existed. It was a surprise, but not one all at once because he'd certainly had an inkling.


End file.
